


Unsundered Reveries

by VennReverie



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst and Drama, Angst and Feels, Drama & Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, no beta we die like men, slapping those angst tags cos that how it is, the best tag and you know it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26391148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VennReverie/pseuds/VennReverie
Summary: >>>>>WARNING 5.3 SPOILERS!! <<<<<Like shattered glass.Broken thoughts.Moments, fragments of a world once whole.---Emet-Selch and his frustration to try and make the Warrior of Light to remember.Rather, to remember they once lived in the same world.Not for anyone's sake but for his own selfish reasons.Small drabble pieces from the days of Amaurot/Mixed with Shadowbringers moments!
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Original Character(s), Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Reader, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	1. The Mark He Left

**Author's Note:**

> Okay okay okay, alright alright alright- I never really thought I'd be writing Emet-Selch stuff but here we are. 
> 
> ______________________________

He stared at her, eyes gleaming, full of mischief. Pale yellow like gems, like street lights dimly lit on a summer’s evening. 

She stared back, her own eyes angry and amber, searing and scorching like a burning sun. 

Emet-Selch chuckled darkly, leaning back as he clasped his hands together, resting his chin tenderly upon them. A kind yet churlish smile etched itself across his features, twisting his expression. 

An expression she noticed he had reserved for her, aged through bearing witness of her journey thus far.

“My dear wanderer, why must you glare at me so with such weary eyes,” Emet crooned, never taking his sight off her. His voice was slow, mocking with a hint of playfulness that lilted with his tone. 

Around both, life continued as normal. 

The Crystarium bustled, pulsing with energy. A nervous yet excited feeling hung in the air, like the static before a storm.

People ran to and fro destinations across the languishly paved courtyard amidst the sound of armouries and merchants pushing their wares. A night sky twinkled fresh overhead, the Crystal Tower stood glowing, its blue hues like a beautiful spire mythically piercing through inky black. A warm midsummer-like breeze mingled, gentle and calming like the end of a piano song tapering off. It was soft, a clean air that felt comforting as it permeated the atmosphere around everyone with a nurturing embrace. 

And the Warrior of Darkness was simply enjoying a moment to herself, sipping an ale at The Wandering Stairs, losing herself in the hum and thrum of the nightly atmosphere.

The night for which, she and her fellow Scions fought endlessly to bring back to the people of Norvandt. 

After her first Lightwarden fight she immediately was brought back to the Crystarium. 

She had bathed, dressed into fresh, casual garments, laid down to rest as recommended by her fellow comrades. 

Then after several bells of tossing and turning, decided to go for a walk. 

She had been enjoying this moment to herself. The cool beer soothing, a balm to her mind, to calm and slow down restless thoughts, concerns, worries- 

When a long drawling voice had interrupted her. 

She looked round from where she had been admiring the gaps in the Crystarium roofs, the fine architecture that had caught her attention towards the Ascian sitting in front of her in his human, Garlean form. 

He bore that smirk she had wisely come to recognise that drifted subtly between boredom and intrigue. 

“Fine, no need to answer my question. I know you well, warrior. You have many thoughts that plague her fragile fragmented mind, please indulge me in them if you so wish.”

She sighed, letting fingers encapsulate the stein in front of her, tracing circles with calloused fingers, worn from holding a staff, a sword, a bow. 

Whatever was required of her in that moment. 

“I’m thinking about the respite I was enjoying before you appeared,” the warrior replied curtly, brushing back white hair calmly, eyes dipped as tresses fell across her slackened top. 

The Ascian watched her with lazy eyes, eyebrows permanently dented into mischievously surprised arches. 

Scoffing, Emet rolled a gloved hand as he languidly shifted on the bench in front of her. 

“You were _always_ one to enjoy time by yourself,” Emet responded quietly, voice low.

“I _was_?” She let her lips form the last word heavily, the question mark forming itself fully in tone as she cocked an eyebrow. 

His eyes studied her, this time with a hint of fondness beneath that judgemental look. 

“Oh you should know. Maybe you _don’t. Yet.”_

The warrior huffed an irritated sigh. Feeling agitated she made a small dismissive wave with her hand. 

“I tire of games this evening, so unless you have anything of importance to say Emet-Selch then-” 

Suddenly he wasn’t in front of her anymore. The bench across the worn wooden table was vacant. 

The warrior blinked, startled at the sudden disappearance.

Then she sensed the aether around her prickling, the heavy sensation of a presence to her right now occupied. The feeling of plush Garlean fabrics pressed against her exposed leg. 

The weight of someone leaning in would have normally made her spring back in shock. 

Yet something about Emet sitting so close...

Something about it. 

It felt familiar. 

Like fragments of a long forgotten feeling, mingling like frayed ends of a thread that were always just out of reach. 

A garment once worn with such well worn familiarity. 

Like a voice, a phrase, something that brought a sense of homesick ever so momentarily to her being.

Out of sight, yet always near. 

Something hiding in the corner of her mind's eye, forgotten but not. 

Before she could even speak he had leaned in closer, his nose barely an ilm away from the shell of her ear as he spoke gently.

“Dare I hold some hope that you’ll remember? I wish not to be disappointed.” 

her lips parted, as her skin prickled. The coolness of the stein felt grounding in that moment, the cool condensation slipped icily against her skin as she inhaled sharply at how close he was to her face. 

There was a shifting of fabric. She was frozen, afraid to move her head. 

Then she looked down, saw a large ungloved hand lightly make contact with her arm, peeling her hand away from the glass. Slowly, Emet used his thumb to caress skin, carefully turning her palm to face upwards. He did it with such tender familiarity as if he were handling something he had taken great care of, a million times before.

And her skin felt _alight_. 

Searing hot, as a thick rosy blush spread across her face. 

His breath still hot against her neck as with great precision, he traced a circle upon her palm. Slowly. Excruciatingly. 

The contact made her blood roar. 

_Why though?_

her heart thrummed. 

Then he finished, pressing his finger in the circle’s centre, a dot. 

As if he had actually made a mark she could feel where he had made contact. 

The warrior’s breath stuttered as she tilted herself ever so slightly to look at him. 

But he had disappeared. 

\--- 

A vista of towering buildings, shades of blue and cerulean tinted the once glorious city with overtones of sunken patterns as it laid sprawling within the abyss of the ocean floor. 

Large art deco windows carved into stone with square-like precision cast eerie lighting across ornately patterned flooring, lined patterns mixed with large swirls of sophistication. Beautifully wrought streetlamps like elegant tendrils lined the empty streets.

He appeared in a flurry of violet and black magic, coming to rest within one of the rooms that looked over the city. 

The silence, the silence was deafening, drowned by loneliness and the former shadows of Ancients that idled, their apparitions apparent and whole. 

A ghost, a reverie of a time now lost to the throws of the sundering. 

Except him. 

Unsundered and whole, a being that transcended everything the fragments of this misbegotten world had become. 

Emet-Selch brought a gloved hand to his face, gently dragging fingers along his temple, breathing quietly into silk fabric. The smell of her still lingered, and he cursed himself for even letting it cloud his wisened mind. 

_Her._

Merely a husk of what she once was. 

His soul _burned_. It yearned, a gaping ache that echoed endlessly within him. 

When they had called her by the nickname they had given her it had caught him off guard. 

He remembered the feeling, the sharp jolt of sickening shock as it spiked through him, sending shivers into the very marrow of his mortal form. 

He mouthed the nickname soundlessly, curved lips forming short syllables with an air of contemplation and angst. 

It couldn’t be coincidence, this version of her, this fragment. Her true name from times before.

The one they called _Light._


	2. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emet reminisces over when he first met Light, when they were ancients.

Emet-Selch knew of the concept of echoes, that blasted _curse_.

To peer so voyeuristically into the memories of another, to feel and to perceive events as if happening in that very moment. 

It frustrated him, made his blood curdle with an itching, writhing _ache._

That Light could not remember her own memories. Shattered, thrown across many reflections, a blip in the mere existence of a life once whole. 

It pained him so, for he still remembered clear as day; a rather brisk, crisp day, empty of skies and full of light - his first meeting of her. 

It had only been a short while he had been anointed the seat of Emet-Selch, an honour bestowed upon him by the Convocation and a job that he would take with the utmost sincerity and serious nature. 

Amarout gleamed around him, the buildings twirled and stretched into the sky, catching sunlight in a way that caused it to glimmer hazily in the cool tones of the early morning. 

He lay against the grass, his mask pressed against him as he scratched his temple, letting his thoughts run idle as he contemplated several of his tasks for the day. 

Thes square he lingered in was his favourite place to be, the way the buildings framed the flora and fauna, the quietness of it and the general build of it was, _aesthetically pleasing_ to him. 

That and no one ever ventured this far, even by means of teleportation. The large aetheryte statue that stood in the centre of the square was mostly unused, it spun idly, not even a flicker of magic emanated from it barring from when he first grasped it in his thoughts and pulled himself to its location. 

He tangled grass through his hands, lifting another to his forehead to block out the sunlight as he studied the aetheryte statue idly, tracing it’s double helix design, slowly turning.

That was, until something tinged in the air where he lay. The pull and throb of aether mingled like static, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled in response. 

He sensed it, a pull in the air that crackled chaotically. It was coming from the aetheryte statue. Someone was coming. 

With anticipation, he expected it to be Hythlodeaus, coming to disturb his peace once again. It was a common thing and though it disgruntled him it offered him a small trace of comfort to know his friend was always thinking about him, wanting to indulge him in gossip and stories from the Bureau. 

A figure eventually appeared, yes, but not the one he was expecting. 

And nor in the _place_ he was expecting. 

High above, they came to existence. Black robes billowing in the air, undulating wildly. Emet-Selch’s eyes widened beneath his mask, his soul paused. 

For they were directly above him, and falling at quite a pace. 

He shouted in surprise, foregoing any magical instinct and instead physically twisting his body to roll to the left. He tumbled through the grass just as the mysterious figure barreled onto the ground with a thundering crash, rolling forward. 

Emet craned his neck up angry, no, _pissed_ as he watched them in a tangle of black do several forward rolls before jumping straight up then reaching their arms into the air as if finishing a sequence or performance. 

He was staring, goggle eyed and angry, but then felt _awkward_ at the realisation that their hood had fallen. 

A long cascade of white hair dishevelled and wavy fell across their shoulders. They turned their head, mask slightly skewed and made a small startled noise realising they were so _exposed_. Hands quickly came up to press their mask, simple and white, against their face and the hood came back quickly too, tucking strands of air back into the safety of their robe. 

Emet went red, his face matching the bloody tones of his convocation mask as the figure stared at him for a moment. 

Then she spoke, looking around whilst scratching her head. 

“This is… this is _not_ the area I was tethering to,” she said, her voice yet optimistic and amused. Then she simply _laughed_. 

Somehow, this really irked him.

Emet-Selch had immediately scrambled to his feet, brushing his robes straight with thick flattening sweeps of his hand and drawing himself up to full height as he puffed his chest out, scowling as he angrily spoke. 

“Why are you _even laughing?_ You nearly _killed_ me!” He spat, walking heavy stomping gait towards her, “Do you even know who _I am_?” 

She looked at him, Emet noticed her lips parted, shocked at his outburst. Her laughing immediately stopped. Leaning back slightly he towered over her, shoulders stiff as he felt irritable and searing hot with anger. 

“Well, _no_.” She folded her arms, tilting her head as she studied him, “Also that is a little dramatic, ‘ _nearly killed you’_ ” she stated, then smirked, “But also I would certainly hope it’d take more than someone as small as _me_ to kill you.” 

Her voice wobbled out into a chuckle, her hand sweeping to her mouth, to stifle the laugh, her tone and voice was so enthusiastic and bright. Emet puffed up more, trying to assert some form of egotistical dominance. 

“If _**I**_ were you, I would have some _sense_ to _respect_ your peers.” he seethed, his tongue carved every word of his sentence with great articulation, keen and sharp as knives in the hopes their piercing tone would slice through her joking demeanor. “I will _have_ you know I am one of the Convocation, a figure of guidance and-” 

“Ahhhh, that explains the _mask,”_ she interrupted, clearly ignoring his anger, yet genuinely fascinated. “Hmm.”

Her lack of politeness startled him, and his expression went from stiff to visible confusion. She was unlike anyone else he had encountered. Most occupants and workers of the Anyder, the Bureaus and the Convocation were terse and to the point in their discussions. Excitement was reserved to those close to each other. And yet, she was acting annoyingly _mirthful_ from the offset. 

“Will you at least _apologise_.” Emet asked scathingly. He pressed a finger against the bridge of his mask, gritting his teeth as he spoke, “Show some _respect._ ” 

“I’m sorry-” she said. The validation in acknowledging his request was like a quick fix for Emet, the sense of authority returned like a wave of relief to him… which was immediately taken from him when she _continued_ that sentence. “- I have to ask, why does your mask look so… _grumpy?”_

Emet twisted his neck back, reeling back from his usual hunched position to that of abject shock at her rudeness. 

He palmed his mask, feeling his insides cool and collapse with _embarrassment_. He traced the contorted shape of it and stuttered slightly in an immediate response.

“What- what-” he caught the words and forged them properly into a stabbing retort, “ _ **What do you mean ‘grumpy’ what in all of hells is that supposed to mean?”**_

He was beyond angry now, a seething dislike of this person had burned hot through his soul. How _dare_ they. He shuddered with disgust.

“It looks _angry_ and red. Angry red. Are you the angry one?” 

“No. But I am _now_.” He spat. He moved forward, all rationality out the window. 

Oh the things he could _do_. He could unmake someone, send them to the lifestream, the power he had, the things he could _do to scare her._ Knock some common decency to make her have some _ounce_ of respect. A million different ways to intimidate her coursed through his mind, horrors he could summon, the things he could turn into.

He could feel his unbridled irrational anger slip and warp within his being as he began to shift in height. 

The figure laughed nervously, though still stood her ground. His eyes darted to her expression, noting that she was bracing herself as if she had often encountered danger, readying herself for the worst.

“I’m sorry.” she said, smiling slightly, “I was merely saying it in jest.” She pressed a hand to her chest, bowing her head in genuine apology. 

Emet had been so consumed by irritance that it had only taken him until now to notice it. To see it through the veil of red hot anger ( _how dare she insult me?)_ the colour of her soul. 

To have soul sight was a blessed gift. One that Emet knew only him and his fellow friend Hythlodaeus had. To see the colours, movement, the lights and shadows of another's soul was so personal that Emet had formed the ability to control it, use it only when he needed to. 

In this particular moment his mind must have slipped, for as she placed her hand on her chest with sincerity it was as if someone had set a stagelight upon her very soul. 

He felt his chest flicker in surprise, his growth stopped and he slinked back to his normal self. He hadn’t realised this had happened because he was far too occupied from his inner eye _staring_ at the colour of her soul. 

It was so pure, so bright. A white, golden yellow that glittered and swirled, pearlescent but not, diamond like but… _not_. It was indescribable. 

And it felt...it felt… 

_Annoying._

He _hated it._

He didn’t even know her name and he loathed her very existence. 

“Ah, there you are!” 

Cheerful, optimistic tones swelled through the square, Emet felt his senses twirl as he jerked his head in the direction of the familiar voice. 

Hythlodaeus was bounding across the square, an arm in the air as he waved airily. Emet smirked, folding his arms, glad his companion was here to perhaps help him teach _her_ some manners- 

“Hythlo!” Her voice rang in his ears, shrill and annoying. Without even so much of a thought she felt him shove past him as she bounded towards the figure. 

Emet _choked_. Scoffed and stuttered as she ran towards Hythlodaeus, waving her arms too. She stopped short and bowed. 

“I’m sorry, I really haven’t grasped this concept of teleportation just yet, I also seem to find that my sense of direction is… rather… _lacking._ ” She turned her head, Emet could _feel_ the sidelong glance she was casting him. “It seems I am in the habit of appearing a little out of place too, my landing not one would call _graceful._ ” 

Hythlodaeus followed her gaze, catching Emet’s scowl from under his mask and chuckled. 

“I see you have met my friend _Hades_ then.” Emet heard Hythlo say, and he slouched into a skulking walk to join them both, still pissed beyond belief. 

“I could say _met_.” Emet-Selch scoffed, “More interrupted my morning _respite._ ” 

His tone was scathing and bland, only accentuating the words that he was trying to make a point of being inconvenienced by the whole affair. 

Hythlodaeus laughed, brought a hand to his mouth in contemplation. 

“It appears she’s made quite the first impression already.” Hythlo said, slowly turning to gesture to the smaller ancient. “Where are my manners, perhaps you should introduce yourself fully.” 

She smiled, genuine, then turned to face Emet-Selch. 

“It is an honour to meet you,” she bowed, sweeping a hand to her torso as a few tresses of white hair once again slipped from her robe, “I am Light, newly anointed assistant to the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect.” 

He was not dumb. He could _hear_ the flickers of playfulness in her tone, even when she was acting _formal._

“A help that I am most grateful to have.” Hythlodaeus had, “To have someone work so closely on my errands will take a much needed pressure off my administrations.”

Emet rolled his eyes, noting Hythlod glance in his direction as he did so however he immediately was drawn back again to observe how _bright_ her soul was as she had introduced herself. 

It was almost ethereal, he couldn’t _help_ but stare at it. It looked like the concept of sunshine on a spring morning, the way sunlight would sparkle against the morning dew. It was saccharine. Almost _too_ saccharine. 

And very incredibly voyeuristic as he gained nothing from staring so much. Hades sensed his friend had noticed he was ogling, and chose to push the conversation to a close. 

“And this is Emet-Selch, member of the Convocation of Fourteen. You will see him around the bureau a lot.” Hythlodaeus said proudly, “He is one of great composure and remarkable in his powers.” 

Emet exhaled quickly, a slight _tsk_ that hissed through his teeth. 

“You flatter me so, Hythlodaeus.” Emet said. Then he noticed Light was studying him carefully. He felt his stomach knot slightly as he could feel her eyes peering at him, in a way that was considered more intimate than he thought. He felt violated, and quickly averted his gaze towards the sky to observe what a day it was. 

Ever so faintly, deep and echoing, bells tolled in the far distance across the city. 

Gently, Hythlodaeus turned to face the aetheryte. 

“It appears the day is starting proper.” He said, “I feel it is best we should get to our duties, dear Light, your first day on the job, afterall.” 

Light stood straight, bowed again and then enthusiastically gave a two finger salute, bouncing on the spot. 

“Yes Chief!” She barked happily, “I think I’ll get it right _this_ time.” 

Emet watched as she turned towards the aetheryte. She slid a foot back and then leapt into the air, crushing her hand to her chest. Aether simmered around her, pulling from the ground. 

As it twirled and gravitated towards her, she cast a quick glance to Emet. 

“Nice to meet you, _Hades._ ” She said, grinning. 

Emet acknowledged quickly her awareness to ignore all pretenses of using his office name.

There was a swell of magic, the sound of aether cracking and warping and then she was gone. 

The bells finished tolling. Only silence met the two ancients as they stood in the square, the cool shade of buildings shadowing over them as they enjoyed a moment's pause together. 

“So _she_ will be around the bureau a lot?” Emet grunted. 

“Yes. What do you think of her then?” 

Emet lazily blinked, sighing heavily as he frowned. 

“To say I dislike her, would be a vast understatement.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thanks for reading! Please leave a comment if you liked what you read below!


	3. The Favours We Owe

She planted her sword down, felt the blade sink through the flesh of the sin eater as it dissipated, cracking into flecks of glassy flakes that burst into the air, sparkling and glittering and shimmering... 

The warrior wiped sweat and blood from her forehead, looked round at Thancred who gave her a simple approving nod and she stepped down from the remains of the monster, moving forward to find the next preying creature. 

Thancred, Minfilia and the Warrior of Darkness had decided to scout the Rak’tika Greatwood, ridding the area of any threats whilst their fellow Scion members rested before exploring the ruins nearby. Y’shtola had busied herself, readying up to take the venture with Light, who in turn was restless and wished to spend some pent up energy instead of lying down, fidgeting in a cot, unable to sleep. 

She felt her hand flex around the sword, looked down at how she gripped the hilt tightly, remembering the symbol Emet-Selch had drawn carefully, invisibly, into her calloused hand. 

She was lost in thought, something didn’t _feel_ right about his actions. It was unlike him, to act so… _close_. It seemed different, since so far she had put up with him so far mincing about and acting like a theatrically inclined villain towards the group. 

She hated that he made her flustered, as if a small gap in her rather steely demeanour had been felt exposed, a wound as thin as a strand of hair… a small fragment of his words had managed to seep through. 

It made her itch. 

She wouldn’t say _uncomfortable_ just… unsettled, as if there was some great unknown truth that was hiding just in the shadows, beyond her reach, watching, waiting. 

Something she didn’t have the knowledge to perceive or understand. 

“Light, watch out!” cried Minfilia.

Light snapped to, too lost in her ruminations to notice a pearlescent white creature, an amalgamation of beastly muscle and sinew throw itself towards her, claws outstretched like a trap, ready to claim it’s next victim. 

She threw herself forward rigidly, feeling the corrupted aether pulse behind her as she grabbed both hands upon her blade again, swinging it around and taking a slash at the creature. 

She clipped its wing and it roared, spun as it staggered, swinging it’s arm back around and the warrior ducked. Blood spluttered against a tree, white and glittering. She sunk her foot into the ground, took a firm grip with gauntleted legs as she surged forward for another attack. 

Then someone caught her eye in amongst the trees, in the corner of her vision. 

Black and red Imperial robes. 

Was that? Was he _lurking again?_

_Bastard distraction-_

There was a shout from Thancred.

It all happened in mere seconds. 

The pain came after, the action was what she remembered mostly. 

The feeling of a force spiralling into her torso, the sensation of spinning through the air, something sharp, clawed at her armour. It crunched, crumpled as it took the brunt of the hit. Where cloth once was, had been shredded between plates of armour. 

She bounced through the dirt, skidding. The taste of blood filled her mouth and she coughed. 

Adrenaline seared hot through her, boiling in reaction to the damage as it coated her insides in reaction, electric, hot. 

There was a roar, the sound of gunshots reverberated wildly through the air, whipping through the branches of trees. 

Then silence. 

Light rubbed her head, scrubbed the heel of her hand into her eye as she came to. 

Minfilia was running towards her, sandals pattering against the mossy forest floor at an exponential rate. She slid to her knees, staring at the warrior in horror, frantically asking if she was ok. 

Light laughed, trying to keep the tone upbeat. It was her first instinctual thing to do often so as to not cause unnecessary panic in the young girl who was crouched before her. 

“I’m fine, ‘tis but a scratch.” 

“A rather bloody one at that.” Thancred said, approaching as he hilted his gunblade on his back, “Minfilia help her remove her armour, we must assess the damage.” 

“Heh.” Light said. Damage.

She looked down. 

Blood was seeping through the metallic black plates. The light blue fabric that was torn was stained red. She moved to sit up and was met by a sharp pain that shattered through her. She made a small groan.

Minfilia was still staring at her. 

“Minfilia it’s okay,” Light said, still grinning, “Nothing a chirurgeon can’t fix, I’ve had worse.” 

“It’s not that,” Minfilia said, her eyes wide in shock, “It’s-” 

She placed a finger at her mouth, as if to indicate to the warrior it was something upon her own face. 

Light furrowed her brow, confused. 

Then coughed again, feeling blood pool in her mouth, only a little bit. 

She roughly brought up her forearm to catch her cough, then wiped her face proper.

Slowly, she lifted her arm away from her face, to observe what Minfilia was indicating. 

The blood she thought she was coughing up… wasn’t blood at all. 

It was white, silvery, pearlescent. Thick and viscous it gelled up on her arm. Frantically she brought fingers up to her chin, wiped more off and looked at it. A wave of panic pierced through the numbing pain that was in her torso. 

She had seen this before, it was the same kind of fluid that Tesleen coughed up before she transferred into a sin eater. 

“Oh.” 

\--- 

“Simply put, she cannot be tempered by the Lightwardens or Sineaters,” Y’shtola said matter of factly, placing her hands on her hips as she stared fiercely at Urianger with clear eyes. “This is merely a small side effect of her absorbing the light of two Lightwardens, you feel fine though, right?” 

Thancred had helped the warrior back to Fanow where she had her wounds tended to. Fortunately the refined skills of the Viera mages ensured her wounds healed quickly, only a slight ache left behind as she was tended to very carefully. 

Light nodded, tightening the bandage on her torso as Urianger tried to fuss over her at his insistence. She clinched one eye shut as she shuddered against the ache, curling forward as she sat in the cot to brace, before exhaling and relaxing again as she pulled her shirt back down to cover her torso.

Minfilia stood looking as pale as a sheet. 

Thancred had said nothing the entire time they had walked back to camp. 

“See, Minfilia, nothing to fear!” Light beamed sitting up in the camp bed and patting the young girl on her head, an action Thancred often did as well. “We have better things to worry about!” 

Light jumped up, stretching her arms in the small room, then suddenly felt something tug wildly at her throat. She doubled over, retching... and Minfilia gasped. 

Then there was a blinding flash. It was brief, it crackled like fireworks in her vision, a burst of something she could not discern. Yet in that minute moment it was as if her aether had left her for a moment then rushed back into her body, like waves crashing against the shore after slowly pulling backwards. 

Feeling drained, she tilted sideways, as Thancred caught her by her elbows. 

“Perhaps I shall rest for the evening, we shall set foot for Qitana Ravel on the morrow,” Light said, giving Minfillia a reassuring smile, “Please child, do not worry for me.” 

\--

The sounds of creatures and birds chittering echoed through the Greatwood. The gentle wavering sounds of trees rustling accompanied the symphony, swelling and faltering through the stillness of the forest. 

Yet uncomfortable, turning and restlessly failing to sleep, Light felt like a tempest of thoughts was at work within her mind, unable to be quelled by sleep. 

She slinked out of the cot, placing a light cotton slip over her smallclothes and bandages, noticing they were bloomed from the remnants of blood that had yet to congeal. 

The warrior sighed, clasping a vial on the side table, moving to the otherside of the hut to peer out the window as she uncorked the potion, downing it in one shot and shuddering at the bitter taste as it slinked roughly down her throat. 

A cool sweep of air stirred her white hair as her eyes adjusted to the constant daytime that was still here. 

Though in some perception of time it was night and the village was asleep, daylight burned in the sky above. The thick outcrop of the tallest trees filtered the light, making it’s pure white hues seem like the light from a fading star rather than the harsh daytime Light had been used to when she first arrived in Norvrandt. 

Though it had been a few weeks (she thought) she felt like biologically her body had not adjusted quite as well, her circadian rhythm felt off, as if she was constantly wobbling between the feeling of being wide awake and the need to sleep, but unable to perceive either with clear insight. 

She looked back down at her hand, scowling at it as she flexed it. She used the vial to trace the stupid symbol upon her palm again. It itched against her skin, as if she could not forget it easily. 

And that bugged her. 

Shoving the glass into her slip pocket she brought out a small piece of string to bundle her hair up into, as it caught against her skin, warm from the humid atmosphere of the Greatwood. It was cloying, perhaps that was another factor towards why she couldn’t sleep. 

Pursing her lips to hold the ribbon she bundled her hair up messily. Agile fingers had scooped most of it up when a sudden voice behind her caused her toes to flex madly and for her to jerk in surprise. 

“They know you’re lying,” came a familiar voice, slightly simpering, slightly sarcastic, laced with factuality and sternness. 

Light span, saw the flash of Garlean robes and spat her ribbon out of her mouth, she lunged to her left, grabbing her greatsword and swung it towards him.

Towards Emet-Selch, the point barely ilms from the sallow, pale skin of his neck. His adams apple bobbed, only for a moment, as he glowered at her. 

She clenched her teeth, felt her bandages twitch and she staggered only slightly, her grip on the sword faltering as she let it fall, the point dug into the wooden floor of the hut as she gripped her side. 

“I feel _fine_.” 

It wasn’t the wound she was gripping, it was her stomach. The feeling of bile began to simmer at the back of her throat as nausea spiralled through her. She choked it back down. 

Emet-Selch tutted.

“If only you could see your soul like the young girl can… and your aether like dear Y’shtola can.” Emet said spitefully, his lip quivering into a smirk as Light looked up at him darkly. “Perhaps you’d be so less inclined to spin lies then.” 

Light clenched her fists, giving him a fierce unwavering stare as he glared at her back, those yellow eyes boring deftly into her own. 

“Sometimes the act of lying is to show a modicum of courage.” Light spat, finding her feet again. “I feel truly fine, I know not what is happening and therefore I would rather keep an onze of optimism about everything.” 

Emet-Selch yawned, moving off from his poised yet slouched position against the wall and motioned forward, waving his arms about with an air of flamboyant carelessness. 

“I tire of these theatrics, I merely wanted to check in on our dear Warrior of Darkness and see how she fared,” he said, sounding bored and retired already. 

“Like you care, you’d rather see me perish at the hands of a sin eater than to wish for my well being.” 

Emet-Selch snaked his head back, aghast. He brought a gloved hand up to clasp against his chest as he threw his head up. 

_Talk about theatrics,_ she thought. 

“I am hurt by your ill tempered words, Warrior! Can someone whose interests differentiate from their own not still wish to see you whole and well?” 

Light held up the sword, pointed it at him. Smooth steel caught the dim light from outside, flashing dangerously. 

“That’s why I saw you earlier today, that _was_ you! You were spying on me!” 

Emet gave her a coy smile. 

“Ah, you caught me,” he said, looking away, “I am afraid for all the wrong reasons however. I was merely roused from my nap and wished to see what the ruckus was.” 

Light _gawped_ at him. 

“Napping? You, _nap?_ ” 

“Yes, one of my much preferred hobbies.” Emet-Selch said, as if talking with her was draining him of any energy he had, “A past time I have taken a liking to, not required but it is more the act that I find… interesting than the benefits it entails-” 

There was a small snort. The warrior couldn’t help it… and had to bring a fist up to her mouth to try and stifle the small giggle that was trying to escape from her. 

As if caught red handed _genuinely_ , Emet-Selch looked down at her wildly, his smirk haphazard and disjointed across his features. His pointed eyebrows arched in a way she hadn’t seen before and his eyes moved to and fro as if trying to avoid her stare. 

He looked... _sheepish._

“What? Even Ascians are allowed a small luxury here and there, we’re not _savages._ ” 

“I know I know,” Light said, trying to hide her snigger as she grabbed a shawl on her bed, shrugging it onto her shoulders as she realised she was rather _exposed._

This action had not gone unnoticed however, from the corner of her eye she saw Emet-Selch leering at her, his dark overcast brows lowered as those pale yellow eyes studied her from afar. Her stomach knotted, rigidly grinding against the walls of her insides. 

She grunted, turning to face him, scowling and he looked away, not even hiding his intentions and instead presented a salacious smirk. 

“Why are you here anyway, you’ve never decided to stalk me within my own bedchambers before, please do not make this a habit.” 

“Awww, why not?” Emet said, stepping towards her, “I sensed something was troubling you from afar, perhaps something I said the other day?” 

She pushed him back with one hand, making a small noise and he simply laughed. 

“You cannot get under my skin, Ascian, no matter how hard you try.” Light grinded out through gritted teeth, “We are enemies and I do not regard you in any way that is amicable, no matter how much you try to confuse me with mystic symbols and vague chatter-” 

“-and appearances during battles?” Emet said, his tone suggestive. 

Light went red. Fumbled for loose strands of white hair as if suddenly self conscious, angrily fidgeting to brush them back, to look more composed. 

“If you hadn’t appeared I’d have perhaps not received this injury.” Light hissed, trying to keep her voice low as to not stir anyone awake in the nearby huts, “Now begone, stop bothering me and go nap somewhere in a cave or whatever- ahh-ssss-” 

She gripped her side. 

_This time_ it was the wound. It felt like it was opening again, skin tearing slightly. A prickling could be felt within the scars that made her skin crawl. 

Pulling her hand away she saw the tinge of fresh blood against her hand. 

Emet unfolded his arms and stepped again towards her. Light leapt back with one gentle movement, nimble as she landed perfectly on her toes. “Nope, do not come near me, Ascian!” 

Emet huffed, his voice lilted with bored tones as he spoke.

“Let me see the injury.” 

“Swivving hells I will not let you near me!” Light squeaked, backing up against the wall. She pulled on her aether, clenched her hand to summon a job stone but Emet must have sensed her intentions. In a few quick strides he had closed the gap between them, reaching her before she could change into armour of another role. 

He gripped her wrist and she opened her mouth to cry out but his strength was too much, it emanated from his hand and there was a brief moment she could feel the tingling of his _true power_ simmer against her skin. 

It didn’t _hurt._

She bit her tongue, issued a silent gasp as she relented. 

Light didn’t feel _fear,_ she just felt _confused._

The Ascian was towering over her, his eyes glinted dangerously as he held her wrist against the wall. Her voice sounded meek, she didn’t even realise she was speaking until the words warbled from her, quiet, still tinged with a threat. 

“I swear… if you harm me…” 

“I _won't_ , hero.” Emet-Selch said quietly, his voice lowered.

He let go of her wrist, used his hands to peel back the shawl as he looked at the bloody bandages through the cotton of her slip. 

“Now if you just let me see-” Emet said… and before Light could react he had reached down, gripped the hem of her slip- 

A knee came up, collided with his stomach. It connected satisfyingly and he barely moved, only shuddered from the impact. She witnessed his regally rounded features wince as he bared his teeth, enduring the hit and trying to process it without showing any weakness as if to assert dominance. 

“What in hells are you doing!?” Light croaked, again stifling her voice. 

“I _need_ to _see_ the wound!” Emet spat.

“ _That means undressing, you do realise, you creep?”_ Her voice was burning, seething, venomous- she shoved a hand up towards him and he leaned into her, his weight stifling. Her hand sank into the plushness of his robe as she tried to find purchase, something to shove against. There was too much give, and she wondered for a split second how his figure hid beneath it all-

“Yes, how else will I see the injury? You don’t _think_ I actually have some sentimental regard towards seeing you naked? I do not care.” 

“Well _I_ care if you see me naked!” Light gasped, shoving her head forward to headbutt him away aggressively, uncaring for poise or pretense. 

There was a struggle, hands and limbs flailed as Emet managed to pin her again. 

“For once, hero, I am _trying_ to help you!” 

“No get away!” 

Light caught him staring at her, his expression was what eventually pinned her in place. 

Strands of white and burgundy hair had become dislodged from its usual well kept state, several falling across his eyes, framing his features, his exasperated expression.

His face looked _softer, similar_ to that brief moment he had stolen from her at the Crystarium. 

Was it deliberate? A ruse? She couldn’t trust it.

Surely?

Then he spoke, his voice was low and gravelly, a silken caress in an attempt to calm her. 

“Simple magicks won't cure this wound and it will take far longer to close fully unless…I...” His eyes dipped, his hand hovered over her torso, hovered just ilms above fabric and skin. 

She could feel a heat from his hand, the stirring of aether. 

There was a swirl of purple and black magic. 

She gasped, felt the tendrils of something wash over her, like warmth without… warmth 

Light breathed heavily, both her hands were pinned above her, a flush across her face. It felt like being tickled, _but not_. She tried to twist away again but Emet-Selch made a small noise, pinning her again with a stare and she awkwardly looked away, relenting to his attempt to help.

Something shifted under her, as if her skin had gone taught. 

His hand moved again, reaching down with intent to remove the bandages. 

This time she wasn’t resistant. 

Then common sense overtook her. 

“N- no.” She said quietly, her voice cracked a little from the moment. Feeling her chest heave she placed her hand gently over his, pushing it nimbly away. 

But she let him watch as she reached down, shuffled her hand under the shawl and slip and tugged the bandages away. 

They fell with ease, congealed blood no longer present, revealing clean untouched skin underneath. 

“Well?” Emet said, his voice humoured, “I feel a _thank you_ is in order.” 

“Th- thank you-” Light said then realised her hand was still clasped over his. 

Her lungs quivered. Her breath stuttered slightly, as if unsure how to respond. 

Then she felt _embarrassed_ she even let the Ascian near her in the first place. She felt unclean, tainted by his help. 

“Okay thank you! Now GO.” Light thundered, not caring if she woke anyone up now as she surged forward, pushing both hands against him as she steered him towards the door.

Surprised by her strength, she kept moving as Emet-Selch staggered backwards, the door bursting open and she shoved him, closing the door with a dull thud before leaning upon it to stop re-entry (as if that would stop him anyway).

She _wanted_ to hate him. It was burning, this ill tempered darkness within her that was reserved only for him. 

Yet like a stopper, there was something that would temper this anger, a single fragment of doubt that would come in and stop her from feeling this way _constantly_. 

Was it _empathy?_

No, it was something else. She had no remorse for the man. 

And that was what itched at her at night, made her frustrated. Like something was missing she could not discern. Everytime she tried to label it her mind would scrub it clean, words became blurred, thoughts became confusing. 

As if a part of the puzzle were still missing. 

Then a voice, as if it were right by her ear. It made her skin prickle. The robust wood that stood between them felt like nothing but air as his voice came through, clear as day. 

“You _owe_ me.” 

His tone was scathingly smug. 

\---

The ascian hummed, closing his eyes. 

Pulled on tendrils and taut strings. Brought forth the aether from the lifestream, her soul a colour he had remembered from glancing it earlier on that day. Sharp and biting, his grip on the lifestream was strong, a current that only he could stand against and sift through with ease. 

Like a fisherman, he tugged in his mind's eye, slowly collected form and function, glittering and undulating as he clicked his fingers. 

A snap, a snag on the reel. 

Then her body appeared, a burst of light at first. 

Then the shape of a miqo'te woman. 

He snapped his fingers again. 

She was robed, her clothes from before billowed around her. 

Then she was safe.

Y’shtola opened her eyes and Runar rushed forward, in awe.

Y’shtola was alive. 

She was giggling, remembering she had cast the forbidden spell. 

The hours of mourning her loss were as if they never happened. 

He looked at the warrior, carefully studied her face as she looked at Y’shtola in wonderment, as if perceiving a great miracle, something grand and new beyond anything she had witnessed before. 

Emet-Selch turned into his collar, buried his smile into tufts of his furred collar so no one could see. 

He could see it as clear as day, the way her soul glimmered brightly, a new sun, intrigued and _burning_ with happiness. 

_Light._

\---

Relief was barely the beginning of elated thoughts and feelings Light had, to see Y’shtola fine again. She beamed, watching as the group paced away, readying herself to tow behind. 

He did it, Emet-Selch actually brought her back. 

Then she felt the pressure, that familiar pressure. 

Heavy fabric by her side. The ruffled layers of Garlean garments. 

“That is twice you owe me.” Emet said, that stupid smug smile sewn across his face neatly, embroidered with triumphant glee. 

Light balled the sleeves of her White Mage robes together, 

“Fine, I still do not trust you, but I cannot forsake a debt.” Light grunted, turning to face him, hands on hips, “What do you want?” 

“I would like your company for one evening.” 

“My-” she scrunched her face up, parting her lips in fury to shout. 

“Such a filthy mind, but nothing of that sort. Merely your company, nothing more.” 

“That’s it, just my presence?” 

“Indeed.” 

She tilted her head, narrowed her eyes at him as she perked up an eyebrow suspiciously. 

“Fine, where? And when?” 

“ _Oh_ , I will let you know nearer the time.” Emet-Selch drawled boringly, turning and walking away nonchalantly, “In the meantime go celebrate your fleeting mortal happiness with your newly revived friend.” 

A billowing cloud of purple and black appeared and Emet lazily twirled his hand in the air, waving goodbye as he dissipated into the portal, leaving Light sighing, exhausted in his wake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why am I writing about Emet-Selch? Seriously WHY AM I?
> 
> Yet I cannot stop. So here we are.


End file.
